Prologue to Southerne's Spartan Dame
TO SOUTHERNE'S SPARIAN DAME
When realms are ravag'd with invasive foes,
Each bosom with heroic ardour glows;
Old chiefs, reflecting on their former deeds,
Disdain to rust with batter'd invalids,
But active in the foremost ranks appear,
And leave young smock-fac'd beaus to guard the rear.
So, to repel the Vandals of the stage,
Our vet'ran bard resumes his tragic rage:
He throws the gauntlet Otway us'd to wield,
And calls for Englishmen to judge the field.
Thus arm'd, to rescue Nature from disgrace,
Messieurs! lay down your minstrels and grimace:
The brawniest youths of Troy the combat fear'd
When old Etellus in the lists appear'd.
Yet what avails the champion's giant size,
When pigmies are made umpires of the prize?
Your fathers (men of sense, and honest bowlers)
Disdain'd the mummery of foreign strollers:
By their examples would you form your taste,
The present age might emulate the past.
We hop'd that art and genius had secur'd you,
But soon facetious Harlequin allur'd you:
The Muses blush'd to see their friends exalting
Those elegant delights of jig and vaulting.
So charm'd you were, you ceas'd a while to dote
On nonsense, gargled in an eunuch's throat;
All pleas'd to hear the chatt'ring monsters speak,
As old wives wonder at the parson's Greek.
Such light ragoƻts and mushrooms may be good
To whet your appetites for wholesome food;
But the bold Briton ne'er in earnest dines
Without substantial haunches and sirloins:
In wit as well as war they give us vigour;
Cressy was lost by kickshaws and soup-meagre.
Instead of light deserts and luscious froth,
Our poet treats to-night with Spartan broth,
To which, as well as all his former feasts,
The ladies are the chief-invited guests.
Crown'd with a kind of Glastonbury bays,
That bloom amid the winter of his days,
He comes, ambitious in his green decline,
To consecrate his wreath at Beauty's shrine.
His Oroonoko never fail'd t' engage
The radiant circles of the former age:
Each bosom heav'd, all eyes were seen to slow,
And sympathize with Isabella's woe;
But Fate reserv'd, to crown his elder same,
The brightest audience for the Spartan dame.
When realms are ravag'd with invasive foes,
Each bosom with heroic ardour glows;
Old chiefs, reflecting on their former deeds,
Disdain to rust with batter'd invalids,
But active in the foremost ranks appear,
And leave young smock-fac'd beaus to guard the rear.
So, to repel the Vandals of the stage,
Our vet'ran bard resumes his tragic rage:
He throws the gauntlet Otway us'd to wield,
And calls for Englishmen to judge the field.
Thus arm'd, to rescue Nature from disgrace,
Messieurs! lay down your minstrels and grimace:
The brawniest youths of Troy the combat fear'd
When old Etellus in the lists appear'd.
Yet what avails the champion's giant size,
When pigmies are made umpires of the prize?
Your fathers (men of sense, and honest bowlers)
Disdain'd the mummery of foreign strollers:
By their examples would you form your taste,
The present age might emulate the past.
We hop'd that art and genius had secur'd you,
But soon facetious Harlequin allur'd you:
The Muses blush'd to see their friends exalting
Those elegant delights of jig and vaulting.
So charm'd you were, you ceas'd a while to dote
On nonsense, gargled in an eunuch's throat;
All pleas'd to hear the chatt'ring monsters speak,
As old wives wonder at the parson's Greek.
Such light ragoƻts and mushrooms may be good
To whet your appetites for wholesome food;
But the bold Briton ne'er in earnest dines
Without substantial haunches and sirloins:
In wit as well as war they give us vigour;
Cressy was lost by kickshaws and soup-meagre.
Instead of light deserts and luscious froth,
Our poet treats to-night with Spartan broth,
To which, as well as all his former feasts,
The ladies are the chief-invited guests.
Crown'd with a kind of Glastonbury bays,
That bloom amid the winter of his days,
He comes, ambitious in his green decline,
To consecrate his wreath at Beauty's shrine.
His Oroonoko never fail'd t' engage
The radiant circles of the former age:
Each bosom heav'd, all eyes were seen to slow,
And sympathize with Isabella's woe;
But Fate reserv'd, to crown his elder same,
The brightest audience for the Spartan dame.
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